


A Question of Hope

by kristsune



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Depression, Gen, Introspection, Spoilers through Season 1, Zolf is not handling things well, please let him rest, sasha and hamid do as much as they can to help, they help more than he could ever express, zolf puts everyone else before himself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:28:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22367944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kristsune/pseuds/kristsune
Summary: Zolf having a very not good time after the loss of his other leg.
Relationships: Hamid Saleh Haroun al-Tahan & Sasha Racket & Zolf Smith
Comments: 8
Kudos: 26





	A Question of Hope

**Author's Note:**

> I just finished season 1 and i just needed to write out some Feels. Not sure how coherent this is, and it isn't really what i initially set out to write, but, here we are. I hope it's still enjoyable.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who tolerated me screaming about Zolf at them. Because i honestly couldn't help myself

Zolf glanced back down at where his at least one leg  _ should _ be, and immediately had to shove down the rising panic in his chest. Sasha and Hamid still needed him. Sasha’s innards were on the wrong side of her skin, and though Hamid looked to be alright, there was no telling what state he’d be in when he woke up. He would take care of them first, then worry about himself later. 

He couldn’t accurately describe the heavy feeling deep in his gut when Sasha offered to push him again. Down in the catacombs it was different, he had just been injured, and they were fleeing for their lives. This was  _ permanent _ . Losing one leg had been bad enough, he couldn’t even  _ hobble _ anymore, he had to rely on Sasha to help him move anywhere. (He refused to even  _ think _ about Bertie assisting him. It was Sasha or crawl.)

The wheelchair was moderately better, especially because he could still move independently, but it was still… depressing. Zolf would pray and meditate at every free opportunity he had. The thought of putting on those legs… it sent a shiver down his spine. He may not be the most pious cleric to Poseidon, but he knew dark magic when he saw it, and he wanted  _ nothing _ to do with them. He hated that he couldn’t find the proper words to explain to Sasha exactly why he refused to use them, and he hated how much it bothered him that Sasha just kept bringing it up. He hated how angry he felt, all the time, and how he took it out on the others, Sasha especially. She didn’t deserve that, none of them did, just because he couldn’t keep his own emotions in check, didn’t mean that they deserved to take the brunt of his own trauma. 

He initially thought his vision from Poseidon was easy enough to interpret, right up until he mentioned it to Sasha and Hamid. Oddly enough,  _ they _ were the ones to point out how much more ambiguous it really was. Zolf couldn’t tell if he was relieved or discouraged at the revelation. 

(His eyes kept being drawn back to the legs, still where they were haphazardly tossed in the corner of the room, mocking him with their easy fix to most of his problems. )

But the worst of it, the worst of  _ everything _ , was how completely and utterly  _ useless _ he felt, and how much of a burden he was on the others. He couldn’t  _ do _ anything, except for wheel around, and make it more difficult on everyone else. He didn’t even have his trident or mace anymore. He had his spells, and healing magic from Poseidon but he couldn’t defend, he could barely attack. He felt helpless in a way he hadn’t for a long time. 

It was certainly the reason why he placed himself in front of the brain/machine/monster without any armor, or weapons, unable to even stand and fight, just sat there in a damn wheelchair. He needed to be that distraction so the others - who actually had the ability to do any damage at all - were free to do so. Even his channel energy did just as much harm as it helped. But if he could get the thing’s focus on him, it would allow the others more opportunities to get hits in and bring it down. And if he went with it, well at least he wouldn’t be a burden on anyone anymore.

Finding out the entire fight ,and escape was an alternate reality that Mr. Ceiling had thrown them into in an attempt to preserve itself, didn’t erase those feelings. The feeling of being unhelpful in battle, only able to give Bertie more strength (which he already had in abundance). The feeling of only being a hindrance while trying to escape. Of the acceptance of his fate he felt when he told Sasha and Hamid to leave him behind. That maybe death wouldn’t be so bad. Especially if it meant that the others got out. Them risking their lives for his, wasn’t worth it. That instant of hope that his legs could be restored. That hope just as quickly dashed as the realization of everything being too  _ perfect _ . The only thing that kept him from reacting more like Hamid was the absolute  _ fury _ that anyone or any _ thing  _ could treat them like that.

Throughout everything, Sasha had been doing her best to comfort him, and he was honestly touched. Every mention of him not being broken, or a burden; every time she offered to push his wheelchair, or carry him on her back like it was no big deal. Every time she argued with him, insisting on his own worth, occasionally pulling Hamid into the argument with her. And it was difficult to argue with the two of them when they ganged up on him like that. They were both so  _ earnest _ and he knew they believed every word they said. And he appreciated it, he really did. But they didn’t know the half of it, of why he really didn’t deserve their worry and care, and he wasn’t about to tell them either. Some things just shouldn’t be said aloud. 

Zolf couldn’t tell if he was glad or not that Wilde hadn’t tried to goad him into a fight him while giving their brief. On the one hand, taking out his anger on Wilde would have felt good, even if it wouldn’t have accomplished a damn thing. But on the other hand, Zolf was just so  _ exhausted _ . He wanted to lie down and sleep for a week, and not think about any of it. Not the fallout of Mr. Ceiling’s influence on Paris and the world, not about what he would do about his legs, not about what they would do as a group after this. None of it. 

But the sympathetic look from Wilde, mixed with the encouraging ones from Hamid and Sasha, after asking about new prosthesis; Zolf found that maybe, after a good night’s rest, he could find the hope he needed to keep going. 

**Author's Note:**

> please feel free to stop by and visit me on [tumblr!](https://kristsune.tumblr.com/) and if you are interested, my liveblog tag is 'rqg liveblog' and ive been told its a delight to see me s c r e a m


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